


You Make Me Feel Like

by ooinugirloo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Smut, Top Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4411079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ooinugirloo/pseuds/ooinugirloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek doesn’t mean to develop a crush on his boss’s son, okay, it just happens. And when his boss’s son is not only cute, witty, and sarcastic but also has a cock straight from Derek’s dirtiest fantasies? Well, it might just be love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Make Me Feel Like

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmmdraco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmdraco/gifts).



> This smutty little gem got way out of my control (which I probably should have expected, tbh) so it's probably way fluffier than the prompt called for, but c'est la vie. The original prompt: "For this, I want Derek to take lots and lots of cock. I don't care if it's Stiles is packing or there's some fisting or double penetration with a toy (or triple) or a very large toy. I want him stretched to his limits and loving it and getting off even harder at Stiles telling him how good he's doing. You can make him a sub or add in other elements of kink as you wish. I'd love to see all of the prep that goes into it, particularly if that part's gotten kind of routine and they're trying to spice that bit up. Praise kink, size kink." At the very least, I hope I hit most of it, and I hope you enjoy!!

Bedbugs are the worst. Derek didn’t even realize that bedbugs were an actual thing until he was jolted out of a deep slumber by the skittering of hundreds of tiny legs and the feeling of miniscule mouths biting him. His first call was, to his later regret, to his sister Laura, who proceeded to laugh for five minutes until he hung up on her. He then called his mother, (“Really, Der? Go take a shower, sleep on the couch, and call an exterminator in the morning. Goodnight.”) and slept fitfully, a can of Raid clutched in his hand.

The next morning Derek pulled on his deputy’s uniform with the ease of long practice, looking forward to going into work to escape the tiny beasts invading his home. His coworkers tease him for the dark bags under his eyes, but also give him the number of a local exterminator, so he doesn’t mind so much. He calls on his lunch break, groaning and putting his head in his hands after ending the call. 

“Well that didn’t look like it ended well.”

Derek starts at the Sheriff’s voice, wincing and shaking his head. “My place is infested—exterminator says he needs to fumigate but that he’s booked up until next week, so I’ll have to get a hotel or something.”

“That’s ridiculous—the nearest hotel is two towns over! You can stay at my house, we have a guest room that no one’s using. Stiles is back from New York next week, but until then I’m all by myself in the house anyway.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t—”

“Derek.” The Sheriff levels him with a stern look, “Honestly, it’s no problem. Do it so that I won’t have to worry about you being in a hotel if you want.”

Growing up with two sisters gave Derek a finely tuned sense of when an argument had gotten so far out of his control that he could in no way win it anymore. “Alright, Sheriff. I’ll be there tonight.”

“Great! I’ll order pizza!” The Sheriff stood and left, clapping Derek on the shoulder as he went. 

True to his word, Derek stood on the Stilinkskis’ porch at half-past seven with a duffle bag of clothing under one arm and several uniforms on hangers in the other hand. He was quickly ushered in, shown to his room, and then redirected to the couch. He soon sat, pizza in one hand and beer in the other, watching the Met’s game in companionable silence with his boss. 

‘This might not be so bad after all,” Derek thought, once the game was over and he was wearily trudging up to his room, full and sleepy. 

The next few days passed in a similar manner. The Sheriff—“It’s ‘John’ when we’re off the clock, lounging in my living room, Derek. I won’t write you up for using my name, scout’s honor.”—was easy to live with, requiring little in the way of companionship or conversation. Derek, naturally taciturn and conditioned to play the straight man to his sisters’ gregariousness, found this relaxing and started to open up to the Sheriff, to his obvious pleasure. He was growing fond of the guest room, with its slightly dusty simplicity, clearly made up by the woman of the house many years ago and maintained through nostalgia and the bittersweet satisfaction of preserving something of someone that you love. He was getting used to eating with someone, even if it was mostly take-out. He was getting very comfortable in the Stilinski home, which is why, by virtue of Murphy’s Law, Stiles Stilinski was practically obligated to burst through the door at 6 o’clock five days ahead of his anticipated arrival date, arms overflowing with baggage, and yell “Daaaaaaaad, I’m hooooooome!”

Derek, frozen in shock, stayed rooted to the couch as the Sheriff jumped up and went to the door to greet his son. The man’s happy fussing faded to background noise as Derek took in the younger Stilinski, fully grown into himself now after finishing college, a lanky and coltish adolescent maturing into a lean but well-formed adult. He had at some point traded in his buzz cut for a fluffy shock of brown hair that falls haphazardly around his face, drawing attention to his large, bright eyes and multitude of moles scattered across his cheeks and down near his full, pink lips—

Derek swallowed nervously, looking away from the family reunion happening in front of him. ‘Fuck,’ he thought, feeling a blush creep across his cheeks, ‘he’s hot.’

Bedbugs are the worst. 

*

The next morning Derek flees the Stilinski house in the wee hours of the morning while everyone else is still asleep, camping out at a coffee shop near the sheriff’s station with a book until it’s time for his shift. Staring down at the page without reading a thing, Derek remembers the complete disaster he had been the night before when Stiles tried to engage him in conversation—getting flustered and monosyllabic before begging exhaustion and running to the guest room in a panic—and groans, thunking his head and book both down on the table in front of him. 

“What’s wrong, broody? Literature getting you down?”

Turning baleful eyes on his favorite barista, Derek snorts and picks his head up. “No, Erica, the book didn’t do anything wrong.”

Derek met Erica when he was first made a deputy and stumbled in to this coffee shop after his night shifts, exhausted and bleary-eyed. She laughed at him, made him a cup of tea, and talked to him until he was awake enough to drive himself home. She said that he was like a baby bird and that she couldn’t just let him die. He just liked that for the whole half-hour she sat with him and talked it was all scathing but hilarious tales about her customers at the shop. They’ve been friends ever since.

“Well then what’s up with the raincloud over your head?”

Derek winces, but knows better than to try to get out of answering the question. He recounts the story to her, starting with the bedbugs and ending with last night. Erica hums contemplatively as he finishes, giving him a look. “Y’know, I thought Stiles was hot even back in the day. And he’s also a huge nerd, so you two are pretty much perfect for each other.”

Derek, in the middle of swallowing his coffee, chokes and splutters. “Erica! I know that tone of voice—do not start meddling!”

Disliking the mischievous look in his friend’s eyes, Derek grabs his jacket and makes for the door, calling over his shoulder, “Bye Erica, see you later!”

To his mortification, she manages to call back “Later, loverboy!” just before the door swings shut.

*

Derek approaches the Stilinski house that night like a man going to his execution. He purposefully times his entrance midway through when the Sheriff prefers to have dinner, hoping that he can avoid interaction and slip back up to the guestroom with a minimum of embarrassment. Those hopes are dashed as soon as he steps in the door, greeted by a shout from Stiles in the kitchen: “Derek? C’mon back here and join us, I saved you a plate!”

Groaning lowly, Derek makes his way back to the kitchen, each step taking him closer to something that smells delicious. The Sheriff sits at the table, hunched almost protectively over a heaping plate of pasta, mouth smeared at the sides with sauce. “Stiles makes a mean lasagna, Derek! Pull up a chair,”

Stiles smiles at him, going to the microwave and removing a plate, setting it in front of Derek on the table. “Secret recipe,” he says, winking. Derek flushes, managing a quick “Thank you,” before stuffing lasagna in his mouth to thwart further conversational gambits. He hums appreciatively, chewing and swallowing. 

Derek mostly lets the conversation wash over him, neither Stilinski apparently expecting him to contribute, much to his relief. He watches the way Stiles’s eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about—which is anything from civil rights to newly discovered phytoplankton in the ocean—his gesticulation growing more and more animated until he finally knocks his glass over with his hand, sending it careening and water splashing all over the floor. Stiles’s put upon sigh and the Sheriff’s fond exasperation make Derek certain that this is a common dinner occurrence in the Stilinski household. 

Erica’s description of Stiles as a “nerd” wasn’t even the half of it. Derek finds himself watching Stiles—engaged in his stories, interested almost despite himself. There was something about the unselfconscious way that Stiles wholeheartedly loved the things he was talking about—no matter how weird or obscure they were—that draws Derek in. He finds himself wanting to introduce Stiles to his favorite authors; wanting to go look up some of the things that Stiles had been talking about so that he could debate with Stiles about them. ‘Oh no,’ Derek realizes halfway through a story about Stiles and a baby goat at a farmer’s market, ‘I actually really like him.’

“Alright,” the Sheriff groans, levering himself out of his chair at the conclusion of the story, “I’ll get started on the dishes, you boys—”

“No, Dad, that’s okay, you’ve gotta get up early tomorrow. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“But you cooked, son, you shouldn’t have to do the dishes too—”

“I’ll do the dishes,” Derek interjects. “My mother would be ashamed of me if I didn’t help out around here somehow.”

“Well,” Stiles says, biting his lip, “Alright, but I’ll dry.”

Standing side-by-side at the sink, Derek notices that they are of a height, his shoulder brushing Stiles’s as they shift. He quickly redirects his focus down to the dish in his hands, rubbing it with a single-minded intensity that has it clean in a matter of moments.

“Can you keep a secret, Derek?”

Derek starts at the unexpected question, shrugging as he looks at Stiles. “Sure—I have two nosy sisters, it was a necessity.”

Stiles’s lips quirk up as he glances around to make sure that his dad is safely out of earshot. “That lasagna is probably the healthiest thing he eats. I make the pasta by hand and grate veggies into it, and the sauce is full of them, chopped up finely. Also, I use ground turkey for the meat and all low-fat cheeses. I don't know if he really hasn't noticed, or if he knows and is just humoring me.” 

“Him putting away two plates of that lasagna was definitely not him humoring you,” Derek replies, giving Stiles a handful of spoons to be dried. Stiles laughs and they fall into a companionable silence; the familiar motions of washing and drying making the task pass easily. 

Everything cleaned, Derek says goodnight and retreats up to the guest room, a sense of contentedness lulling him quickly to sleep.

*

Derek is not a morning person, particularly, just as groggy and unobservant upon waking as most people. When his alarm goes off at 6 o’clock he bats at it, knocks it off of the dresser, groans, and rolls out of bed to retrieve it. He shuffles to the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes and opening the door, idly wondering why the consistently-open bathroom door had been closed. 

The answer to that question becomes instantly apparent as Derek takes in the stark naked, dripping form of Stiles stepping out of the shower. “Dude!” Stiles yelps, snatching his towel and attempting to cover himself, “Knocking is a thing that most people do!”

“I’m sorry!” Derek manages to bite out before high-tailing it back to the guest room, banging the door behind him in his haste and fumbling with the lock. He leans back against the door and exhales, feeling his cheeks burning as he looks down at his cock tenting the front of his boxers. 

“Fuuuuck…” he mutters, palming at his dick through the cotton. His eyes close and the image of a gloriously naked Stiles immediately paints itself on the inside of his eyelids. All of that creamy pale skin flushed from the heat of the shower, hair damp and clinging, water droplets sliding down the long expanse of his torso. His clothing hid the wiry muscle of his arms and legs, not to mention the well-developed thickness of his chest and abs. Having seen him naked Derek is now sure that he could easily manhandle a lover into position—throwing their legs over his shoulders before bending down and taking them apart with that plush mouth and those deft fingers—

Derek’s breath hitches as he slides his hands under the elastic of his underwear, finally taking himself in hand. Derek himself is of moderate size, but ever since he discovered what his prostate was for he’s had a fascination with large cocks. (Laura, in rifling through Derek’s dresser, had once discovered his dildo collection. She shrieked and slammed the drawer shut, turning to hiss at a very pale Derek “Oh my god, Der, I don’t even want to know where that is supposed to go! Next time you can get your own damn socks!” and stormed out of the room.) This morning’s inadvertent peep show had allowed Derek to notice that Stiles has just such a cock. He licks his lips thinking about it now, how heavy it would be on his tongue, how his jaw would ache trying to take it all in. He thinks about licking the thick vein on the underside, sucking on the flared, pink tip. He squeezes his own dick more tightly, precum leaking from the slit and dampening his boxers. Derek moans, thinking about Stiles cradling the back of his head in his hands, murmuring to him, low and dirty, “what a good boy—you’re taking it so beautifully, Derek, it’s like you were made for me,” tugging on his hair a bit when he gets close, just between pleasure and pain, just like he likes, Stiles crying out as he comes down his throat, pulling out gently and kissing his swollen lips.

Derek comes then, cock still fisted in his hand, inside his boxers. ‘This,’ Derek thinks muzzily, still floating on a wave of orgasm contentment, ‘could be a problem.’

*

Derek spends that day at work studiously avoiding anyone that might engage him in conversation (including Laura, who has called him four times,) and regretting all of his life choices up until this point. Derek, who, after a near miss with an older woman in high school, has avoided all forms of relationship drama now officially has a crush on his boss’s son. 

“What’s with the patented Derek Scowl, grumpy gus?”

“Erica,” Derek groans, hiding his head in his hands, “I’m really not in the mood. And what are you doing here anyway?”

“Rude,” Erica replies, sniffing, “Implying that the good citizens of Beacon Hills don’t have the freedom to visit their county sheriff station whenever they so choose.” She picks at her nails for a minute, letting Derek stew. “Besides, I’m not here for you. I just spotted the Doom Brows and figured I’d check in. Y’know, like friends do.”

Derek looks up, chastised. “Sorry, Erica. It’s just…it’s related to what we talked about last time and it’s all just really embarrassing and I’d rather not talk about it.”

Erica hums and searches his face for a minute, apparently approving of his sincerity because the next minute she’s leaning forward to plant a kiss on his check and spinning around towards the exit, shooting him a jaunty wave and calling over her shoulder “Don’t let the man get you down, boo!”

Her departure leaves Derek warmed by her friendship yet chilled by a sense of foreboding that his sisters instilled in him—the fear of imminent meddling. He shakes off the feeling and gets back to filing paperwork, determined not to speak to anyone more than absolutely necessary for the rest of the day. 

*

When Derek returns to the Stilinski house that evening he stands in front of the door for five minutes hoping that Stiles won’t be home before entering. Stiles is, therefore, sitting on the couch in full view of the door and perks up when Derek walks in. “Hey man! Sorry about this morning, it was my fault for not locking the door, you just startled me.”

“No problem,” Derek replies, trying not to remember this morning and embarrass himself further.

“Cool!” Stiles smiles, apparently content to leave it at that. “I’m grilling the steaks that Dad tried to hide in the back of the freezer. His cholesterol will thank us for eating them, believe me.”

“He’s not eating with us?” Derek glances around, noting a distinct lack of the Sheriff. 

“Nah,” Stiles says, voice muffled slightly from inside of the refrigerator, “He’s away on a fishing trip all weekend. Apparently trout are really biting at this time of year, or something? I’m not really an outdoorsy sort, the finer points escape me.”

Derek swallows heavily, trying to clear his head of images of alone with Stiles, and only just manages to get his hands up in time to catch the potato flying at his head. 

“You mind peeling those for me?”

Derek’s traitor mind hears ‘peel those off of me’ and his first response is “Guh,” before his brain catches up and he quickly amends, “Yeah, sure, I’ll peel the potatoes.”

Stiles shoots him a weird look before turning back to the steaks. The rest of the dinner preparation passes in the same manner—Stiles asks or says something innocuous and Derek has to fight not to turn it into an innuendo, answering belatedly and awkwardly. 

He tries not to talk during dinner, stuffing steak and potatoes in his mouth to discourage conversation. When he can’t avoid it he answers monosyllabically or grunts, struggling to not let any hint of the low-budget porno featuring Stiles that’s playing in his mind slip from his lips. He winces and apologizes mentally every time he sees the look of disappointment on Stiles’s face when Derek refuses to interact with him, promising himself that he’ll make it up to Stiles as soon as he can get his dick under control. 

*

“Hey, Derek? I was thinking maybe—”

Derek forces himself to look away from Stiles’s mouth, tunes out his husky—sexy, he should say ‘Derek’ more often; groan it, scream it—voice and focuses on the dishes in front of him. He can feel Stiles looking at him, and scrubs harder at the broiler to try to distract himself. He knows that he was awkward and uncommunicative all dinner and Stiles probably thinks that he did something wrong but fuck, all Derek can see when he looks at Stiles now is how he looked naked and dripping and ready to just bend Derek over and fuck him—

“…Derek?” 

“Yes!” Derek says, startled out of his daydream.

“You want to try?”

“…Yes?” Derek replies hesitantly, feeling like he’s missed something.

“Great, I’ll go first!” Stiles says, throwing his towel down on the counter and leaning back against it. “Truth or dare?”

‘Crap,’ is Derek’s first thought. He is notoriously weak against Truth or Dare, a fact that everyone in his family uses against him mercilessly at every family reunion. “Truth.” He says decisively, taking it as the lesser of two evils until he knows how Stiles plays this game.

Stiles shoots back immediately: “Have I done something to make you angry or uncomfortable?” and Derek feels awful.

“No, no, you haven’t done anything.” Derek glances over at Stiles, hoping he’ll let him get away with that as his answer. 

“Alright,” Stiles purses his lips, but doesn’t push. “Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Derek cast around for a question other than “Do you like men?” and “How do you feel about potentially fucking me through your mattress?”, blurting out the first non-sexual question that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite breakfast food?”

Stiles gives him a strange look but replies, “Pancakes—with blueberries on top, not inside. When they’re inside they get mushy and gross.” He waits for a minute before continuing, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Derek dreads what question Stiles might come up with if he said ‘truth’ more than he dreads potentially embarrassing himself on a dare.

“I dare you to do to do whatever you want to me right now!” 

Derek whips his head around, eyes bugging and jaw dropping, brain immediately conjuring images of him pushing Stiles down onto the floor, unzipping his pants and sinking down on his cock, riding him until they’re both moaning, gripping each other hard enough to leave bruises—

“Derek?”

Suddenly Stiles is right in front of him, brows furrowed, lips parted invitingly, and he just snaps, lunging forward and capturing Stiles’s lips with his own. 

Stiles makes a muffled noise of surprise but falls easily into the kiss, arms coming up to rest on Derek’s shoulders. They lose themselves in it; take their time exploring each other’s mouths before they have to break apart to breathe. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that for days now,” Derek pants, unable to quite look Stiles in the eye, “ever since I walked in on you I’ve been fantasizing about what it would’ve been like to be in that shower with you.”

“Is that so?” Stiles’s calm voice is belied by the excited flush across his cheekbones. “I should probably take you out to dinner, then, so you can find that out for yourself.”

“Well,” Derek murmurs, looking up through his lashes, “the way I see it, you’ve made me dinner twice now. Not that I’m objecting to going on a date later.”

“Ahhhh,” says Stiles, deep and husky, as he runs his thumb over your lips, “so you’re the kind of boy who puts out on the second date?” 

Derek bites his finger. “I put out whenever I want to put out.”

“Thatta boy!” Stiles grins, “No slut shaming in my house.” He leans in close, “How are you feeling now—wanna head up to my room?”

“Definitely,” Derek breathes, sliding his arms around his neck and catching Stiles’s lips in a kiss full of promise. Stiles slides his hands down Derek’s chest and torso, snaking around to his back and down, cupping his ass reverently. In one swift motion, he’s lifted Derek—whose legs wrapped naturally around Stiles’s waist as though they were made for it—and is going up the stairs towards his room before Derek’s lust-fogged brain has even processed what’s happening. 

“You’ve seen me naked already, so you know that I’m a bit larger than average,” Stiles pants, opening the door to his room and kicking it shut again behind them. “We’ll need to prep you thoroughly.”

Derek could do nothing more than moan in agreement, already keyed up by the thought of Stiles’s beautiful cock. He walks to the edge of his bed and bends, laying Derek back against the covers. He steps back, pulling his shirt over his head and popping the button on his jeans, swinging his hips. 

Derek hurries to follow, shrugging out of his shirt before getting distracted by Stiles’s gyrations, leaning forward to hook his thumbs through the belt loops of his pants. Stiles’s hands come up to card through Derek’s hair, his voice almost a purr. “That’s right, baby, take them off. Tell me what you want—I’ll take care of you.”

A moan rips its way out of Derek’s throat as he pulls Stiles’s jeans down, unable to resist the urge to nuzzle the impressive bulge in his underwear. A light tug on his hair makes him pull back, pupils blown wide as he stares up at Stiles. “Pants off, beautiful boy, I need to go grab a few things. Wait here for me.”

Derek wrestles with his pants, taking off his shoes and socks too, and after a moment’s thought, his underwear. He lies naked on the bed, watching as Stiles goes to his dresser and removes a bottle of lube and several generously proportioned dildos. Stiles returns to the bed, everything laid out in arms reach, and runs his hands down Derek’s legs from hip to ankle. Ankles in hand, Stiles bears down until Derek is bent in half, dick pulsing precum onto his own stomach. “God, Derek, you’re so gorgeous. I want to eat you out until you’re sobbing.”

“Please!” Derek is overcome with sensation, completely unashamed to beg. “Wreck me, Stiles, please!”

“Well,” Stiles says, lowering his face to Derek’s hole, “Since you asked so nicely…” 

The first licks of Stiles’s tongue against his hole are like nothing Derek has ever felt. No one has ever eaten him out with the care and reverence that Stiles is showing, no one ever so eager and thorough in giving him pleasure. The feel of Stiles’s tongue in his ass is exquisite, but Derek craves more, and after a few minutes of licking and thrusting Derek is twitching his hips up and whining. 

“God, you’re so good for me, Der. Your ass is so cute and perfect, I can’t wait to feel it around my dick.” Stiles releases his ankles, massaging his thighs and calves to make sure blood is flowing. He then removes his underwear and climbs onto the bed, sitting back against the headboard. “Come here, baby. Suck me.” 

Derek nearly falls on his face in his haste to get to Stiles’s cock. Settling in comfortably on his knees he dips his head and gets his first taste, groaning low in his throat. It was better than any of his fantasies and he bobbed his head, eager to take more. “Easy tiger,” he hears from above him, “don’t choke yourself. This isn’t the time for that.” Derek’s dick throbs at the thought of choking on Stiles’s cock and makes a mental note to revisit that later. He starts slightly at the feeling of cool lube being drizzled on his ass. “I want you to finger yourself for me, babe, can you do that?” Derek hums enthusiastically, nodding as much as he can around the dick in his mouth. 

Bracing himself with one arm across Stiles’s abs, Derek reaches back with the other hand and coats it in lube, quickly showing two fingers into his ass to the first knuckle. He loves the burn, the stretch, the fullness of things in his ass and he thrusts his hips back, futilely trying to get his fingers to go deeper. Stiles lets him play with his ass like that for a minute, whispering filthy praise, before he slides a hand down his back to his ass, rubbing at his rim. Derek keens high in his throat, wanting—needing those long, slim fingers in him. Stiles doesn’t keep him waiting, just slips one of his fingers in alongside Derek’s, thrusting it in and out deeper than Derek was able to. Derek is almost delirious with pleasure, head spinning, when Stiles slides in another finger. He keeps going, fucking Derek with four fingers until he thinks he’s going to black out or come, and then suddenly pulls out, taking Derek’s hand with him, and leaving Derek’s hole gaping and empty. 

Derek makes a sharp, distressed sound and Stiles shushes him, guiding his head off of his dick, rubbing at his aching jaw. “Shhhh, it's alright, beautiful, I’ll fill you up again, I just don’t think you’re quite ready for my cock yet.” Derek just whimpers, overcome and empty, and goes where Stiles guides him—splayed out on one side with his ass exposed. Stiles leans over and grabs a moderately-sized dildo and quickly slicks it with lube. He doesn’t waste any time, just fucks into Derek with it deep and hard, just how he needs it. He pistons it in and out, hitting his prostate, and Derek whimpers, canting his ass up, hoping to get more of the toy. Stiles leans over him, pressing kisses along his jawline. “I know, baby, that’s where you need it. But I don’t think that’s enough for you, is it? Do you need more?”

“Yes,” Derek pants, “Yes, please, Stiles—give me more!”

“That’s my good boy,” Stiles lines up another dildo. “Are you ready?”

“If you don’t put that thing in my ass right now, Stiles, so help me god, I will push you off this bed and put it in myself!” Derek growls, sitting up to glare at his lover.

“Don’t need to tell me twice…” Stiles mutters, and with a twist of his wrist the second toy is in, filling Derek to the brim. Derek falls back on the bed with a squeak of springs and a groan, little moans punching their way out of his throat with every thrust of the dildos in his ass. 

“Mmmm, that knocked the sass right out of you, didn’t it, babe?” And Derek can’t answer, can’t form words because fireworks are going off behind his eyelids and he feels so full and right, caged safely in strong arms, able to just let go and feel. “You’re delightful,” Stiles declares, thrusting in with one dildo while pulling the other out. “Absolutely wonderful.” Derek basks in the words, floating in the pleasure of the sensations he loses track of time, coming back to himself when Stiles pulls both toys out of him and sets them aside.

“I can’t wait much longer, Der, and I’d say you’re more than ready to take my cock now.” Derek rolls the rest of the way onto his back and grabs his thighs, spreading his legs. Stiles squeezes the base of his cock as he rolls on a condom, the latex straining over his girth. Derek moans, low and needy, as Stiles presses the tip to his rim, his own cock an angry red, precum pooling on his belly. Stiles bends and touches his forehead to Derek’s before thrusting in deep and powerfully, jolting Derek several inches up the bed. 

“Fuck!” Derek shouts, biting his lip to try to keep from coming instantly. 

“God, you feel so perfect, Derek, so tight and hot—”

Derek makes inarticulate groaning noises in response, beyond words entirely. Stiles’s cock fits him perfectly, rubbing along his prostate on every thrust, sending Derek higher and higher. Even those two dildos together didn’t even come close to this—this thick, throbbing heat, this sense of oneness with another person. All sense of time is lost, only an endless pleasure remains, slowly building before the ultimate conflagration. 

“Der,” Stiles grates out, minutes or hours later, voice rough, “I want you to take one more thing for me. You think you can do it?” Derek opens his eyes and sees Stiles holding one of the toys from earlier. He sucks in a breath, trying to imagine how full he would feel with that inside him alongside Stiles’s cock, thinks of the burn, thinks of how it would please Stiles, and is blown away by the wave of lust that washes through him. He nods helplessly, moaning continuously as Stiles lines up the toy and presses it in, gently but firmly working it past the rim and filling Derek up. 

The sensation is almost enough to make Derek stop breathing, throat working but no sounds coming out. Stiles is whispering praise and curses into his ear, kissing his temples and his cheeks. That only sends him higher, body overloading with the combined fullness of Stiles and the dildo inside of him. He feels his muscles seizing up, feels himself reaching that peak, and clings to Stiles. His orgasm hits him like a freight train, cock painting his and Stiles’s chests with ropes of cum. His vision dims and he’s vaguely aware of Stiles coming a moment, but mostly just lays there, utterly spent and incredibly content, pleasurable aftershocks still running through him. Stiles lays on him for a minute, a warm, comforting weight, before pulling his cock and the toy out of Derek, slowly and carefully. He pulls the blankets out from under them, maneuvering Derek’s limb body around gently, and settles them in close cuddling. They are both quiet, but it is a quiet born of satisfaction, and they soon drift off to sleep in each other’s arms.

*

Derek stirs sometime later, lifting his head from Stiles’s chest. “Hey, how did you know that I’d play Truth or Dare?”

Stiles smiles down at him, carding his hand through his hair. “I got a Facebook message from Erica Reyes, actually. Lemme read it…she said: ‘Our favorite deputy is a big dumb baby but he’s honest and can’t resist a dare.’ With a winky face at the end.” 

“Erica,” Derek growls, turning his head to try and hide his pink cheeks. 

“It’s okay, babe,” Stiles murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Derek’s head, “We’ll get her back. I have it on very good authority that she has a crush on one of your co-deputies, Vernon Boyd.” 

Derek looks up at Stiles, eyes crinkled at the corners from his smile, and thinks ‘This is the start of something great.’


End file.
